


The Royal Flush

by tromana



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Drama, F/M, Paint It Red Challenge, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Romance, The Mentalist Reverse Big Bang 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:32:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tromana/pseuds/tromana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A game. A life. A love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Royal Flush

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Mentalist Reverse Big Bang 2013. Subtle Noir AU. Inspired by a poster by casper_san

Smoke and grime clung to the walls, blackened by years of neglect. Tables balanced precariously on placemats and books. Glasses were chipped, but nobody seemed to care much about the state of them; it was what they held what counted. Behind the mahogany bar, there stood the pock-marked, scarred and tattooed barkeep. In his hands was a filthy rag which hadn't been introduced to a bowl of fresh water for a considerable amount of time. Methodically, he wiped a glass over and over, most probably making it filthier as opposed to cleaner with every swipe that he took. This bar was his property and his domain.

He liked to think that he knew everyone and everything that happened between these four walls. In here, he was the law, the ruler, the god as it were. Nothing got past him; most certainly not the cops. He prided himself on that; turning a blind eye to certain misdeeds and providing a safe haven for people to express themselves in whatever way they chose. Who was he to judge if somebody wished to do something? So long as it didn't hurt other people, he didn't care.

And that was precisely why certain clientele were attracted to his bar. It was safe for him and even safer for them. At least, that was what he liked to believe. In truth, it couldn't have been much further from the truth.

His eyes scanned around the bar as he placed one glass down and picked up another to attempt to clean it. He took in all of his regulars, from old Davie the Drunk to Celestina, who was looking to sell her... ample wares, as it were. For a second, he found his gaze being torn down to her chest, but he shook his head in disgust. He, of all people, wasn’t allowed to treat Celestina in the way that her patrons would.

Finally, he looked away from Celestina and searched out the far edges of the room. In the far corner sat old Johnny boy with two strangers who were completely unfamiliar to him. He furrowed his brow. He didn't know who that blond man and petite brunette woman was. His bar he kept as invitation only for a reason; to keep his patrons safe. But, as these two new figures had been brought in by old Johnny boy, he figured he could trust them. Johnny had an exceptionally keen sense of judgment. He knew who to trust with secrets and who couldn't. Johnny knew how to dispose of individuals who broke that trust. He had a habit of making these issues just disappear, almost like at the click of somebody's fingers. Of all his clientele, Johnny was the one he both cared about and trusted the most. Unlike Celestina, he returned for Johnny's services on many an occasion. And, he half suspected, that some things would never change. Old Johnny boy was the trickster, the joker in the pack, but steadfastly reliable all the same.

But, contrary to his belief, his relationship was already changing with old Johnny boy. Johnny had already betrayed him by bringing in two people who he absolutely would not have wanted in his bar. And old Johnny boy – and his two 'companions' in the far corner were all playing for their lives.

Quite literally, in this case.

_1\. Shuffling the pack_

Patrick Jane was lounging on his battered brown leather couch, enjoying the summer rays which peeked through the glass window panes. It was on days like this when he felt a rare sense of contentment. Since the untimely passing of his beloved wife and daughter, his whole world had turned to monochromatic shading. He had practically forgotten how to live, and instead, merely existed while fueled by a deadly desire for revenge. But today, he felt okay. The team was hard at work. Kimball Cho, a stolid, exceptional interrogator, was tied up with the 'fun' task of interviewing the perpetrators of their latest case. Theoretically, Jane knew that he could have been watching as the interrogations unfolded, but he didn't really care to do so. It was all open and shut; that really wasn’t his idea of time well spent. Then there was young Grace Van Pelt. She had taken over the duty of paper trails - something which the redhead deeply resented but refused to show her distaste - and was furiously turning over pages and pages of paperwork. She was a rare breed; a woman who actually liked to work, rather than stay at home and keep a family. But even rarer still was the person in charge of this investigation unit.

At that moment, Teresa Lisbon walked through the door. This was the woman in charge, the person who challenged all of society’s definitions. A trailblazer, and a pioneer; it was her who fought for young Grace’s position within their team. Lisbon was fiercely intelligent, fiercely driven and fiercely proud. She was a femme fatale if ever there was one, but with the brains to back it up. A vision of ethereal beauty; she made Jane’s heart yearn for healing. That, however, was something that he still denied himself. There were more important things to be worrying about. In another time, in another place, then maybe he would have been capable of doing something about his feelings. As it was, he only had time to focus on capturing one man: the serial killer, more commonly known as Red John.

He could also read her like an open book.

Her furrowed brows indicated a high level of concern. She had a small manila envelope clasped between her delicate fingers. Those fingers, Jane knew, were capable of killing a man twice her size. More than once, he’d witnessed her drawing out the hidden firearm which she kept in a concealed holster. Men tended to underestimate this woman, and for a while, Patrick Jane did too. But now, he knew and understood her. That was why he flew to his feet in an instant to greet her. She had something to say.

Or rather, she had something to _give_ to him.

Lisbon’s hand twitched as she handed the envelope over to him. Jane’s frown mimicked hers as he accepted it. His name had been written neatly on the front in perfect cursive. There was nothing that could be given away with it. With a shrinking suspicion as to its contents, Jane slid his fingernail underneath the gummed edge and revealed what had been hidden inside.

A playing card, specifically, the Jack of Hearts.

The card had been altered. Over the face, there was another smiley face. It had been drawn in blood. Jane knew that from previous occurrences.  The main question was whose blood it was.

It also indicated an important revelation: Red John had struck again.

The very thought made his blood run cold.

_2._ _Dealing the cards_

“Boss, we’ve caught one.”

She could hear the nervousness in Grace Van Pelt’s voice. Lisbon had only just handed the mail over to Jane, seen its contents when the rookie member of her team piped up. Involuntarily, she shivered. It seemed like a bad omen, a cautionary sign from God. Something was clearly amiss in the world.

This was most likely the Red John case finally being called in.

“There’s a smiley face on the wall,” Van Pelt continued cautiously.

“Okay,’ Lisbon answered with a decisive nod, but her heart was sinking to her stomach. “Let’s go.”

After checking in with Cho, she, Jane and Van Pelt were heading down into the smoky streets of Sacramento. The murder had occurred just one block away, there was little point in daring to take a car and weaving through the traffic. Lisbon’s bad mood was getting increasingly worse; she hadn’t been able to locate the final member of her team, Wayne Rigsby, before they had left to see the crime scene. In the end, she had just cast it aside. Once they found him, she decided to ensure that she gave him a severe reprimanding.

Patrick Jane was walking close by. Occasionally, his arm brushed against hers. She tried to ignore it, but it felt like a jolt of hot electricity running through her body. This was not the time nor the place to be thinking about Mister Jane in such a way. He was here to assist with the investigation, not for her to be considering looking for a new husband. Besides, he had been broken since the murder of his beloved wife and daughter. The story was practically infamous, especially in the criminal underground.

If it hadn’t been for Red John, then Patrick Jane wouldn’t have been by her side at all.

Soon enough, they reached the apartment. It had already been sealed off, but they were promptly given clearance to access. Lisbon could feel the penetrating gaze of the LEOs on her back. They didn’t approve of women in charge; they had the traditional, backward, view that women should be seen and not heard. But, Teresa Lisbon knew she was a far superior investigator and a sharp shooter. If any of them were unwise enough to get on her wrong side, then they would quickly learn their lesson.

In the end, it didn’t take her long to locate her errant subordinate. He was the one lying dead underneath that ominous smiley face made of blood.

_3._ _Playing the hand_

Jane felt sick to his stomach when he saw a man he obviously cared about had met his demise in such a gruesome manner. He knew that, like himself, Wayne Rigsby had been a family man. His only son, Benjamin, had developed into a beautiful young boy. Now, Wayne wasn’t going to see his son grow up to become a handsome man, just like his father.

From experience, Jane knew that the loss of a loved one was the worst punishment that any individual could endure. Benjamin Rigsby had suffered this punishment based purely on the fact that his father worked with _him_.

Every single time that Red John killed, it was a message for Jane. It was someone who knew tangentially, or had passed in the street once. Or somebody from his past, somebody he’d worked with or swindled out of cash when he had masqueraded as a psychic. With his near-perfect memory palace, he had always been able to identify them, one way or another.

But this was the one that had landed closest to home.

He knew that the women who he worked with were equally shocked and saddened by this revelation. It was little wonder. The team was like a family, and he knew that they would be haunted by this death for the rest of their lives.

Just like he was haunted by the deaths of everyone who had found themselves on the wrong side of Red John’s blade.

For now, he had to put his thoughts and frustrations to one side. He boxed them neatly away in a dusty part of his memory palace for future reference, or maybe even just to let them grow cold and neglected. Jane had a job to do, and that was to discover the message hidden within this crime scene.

He coughed as he walked past the door. The security personnel were chain smoking and appeared more than a little bit green. These LEOs had very little prior experience of murder and death and had taken it badly. He could see it in their eyes that they wanted this crime scene dealt with as soon as feasibly possible. They wanted the body of Wayne Rigsby moved away to the state morgue for an autopsy so they no longer had to face it.

But they had to wait, though. He still needed to work his magic.

It didn’t take him long.

He found Rigsby’s pack of playing cards lying on the side, slightly open. On the box there was another smiley face, one which matched the face daubed onto the wall.

_4._ _Showdown_

“It’s a puzzle,” Lisbon said bluntly.

After they had laid each card carefully on the table, they weren’t surprised to see that the Jack of Hearts was missing from the pack. Also missing were the same suit’s Queen and King. Finally, one of the Jokers wasn’t accounted for either.

But the rest of the deck each had a few words scrawled on them. Unfortunately, they weren’t in order which meant that they had to piece together each part of the message before they could decipher what Red John was trying to say to them. Time, of course, was of the essence. Lisbon knew that.

Red John was a wily creature; he seemed to have the capability of disappearing into thin air. She hated that more than anything right now. It made angry fires burn within her at the sheer injustice of it all. They had gotten so close to the serial killer on several occasions, only to discover that they had apprehended his right hand man, or killed one of his acolytes. It seemed like every time they took a step closer to him, he was even further away.

Jane was showing little interest in the card puzzle lying before them. He was back on his couch, staring up at the smoke-stained ceiling. She watched, briefly, as he played idly with his Vesta case before she drove a stillettoed foot into the soft leather fabric. Jane glared at her, as if she had committed a heinous crime. Lisbon didn’t care.

As far as she was concerned, he wasn’t here to rest. He was here to work.

“I thought puzzles were your specialty?” she said, raising a perfectly formed eyebrow.

“I’m tired, Teresa. I work hard.”

She snorted, amused by the very concept of his version of working hard. Here they were, trying to bring about justice not only for one of their own, but his deceased family and so many others besides. But, all he seemed to care about doing was lazing around and acting as if he had not a care in the world.

Lisbon knew for a fact that it wasn’t true. But still, she needed to get him moving.

“Got it,” Cho suddenly said out loud and she turned on her heels.

Maybe they didn’t need him, after all.

_5._ _Two Pair_

“You,” Jane said simply when they faced his nemesis.

“Welcome, Patrick, Teresa. It’s good to see you. Please, take a seat.”

This was where the pack of cards had led them to, a dingy, dark bar in what was generally considered to be the roughest part of town. The bartender barely raised an eyebrow when he saw them walk in; he just continued wiping the glass in his hand. Tentatively, Jane took a seat and stared across the table at the man he had been chasing for a good decade. He knew that Red John was scrutinizing them, checking they had followed his instructions right down to the letter. Jane could remember the message perfectly.

_Dear Mister Jane,_

_I hope you are keeping well. It has been an interesting ten years for us._

_This is a stalemate._

_I propose we end this, tonight._

_A map is enclosed on the instructional pamphlet._

_Bring no weapons, or you and everyone you care about will die. If you do not turn up, you and everyone you care about will die. Wayne Rigsby was just the start._

_PS. Bring Teresa. Make sure she wears that red dress. She looks especially lovely in it._

He had fought long and hard with Lisbon about their attendance. Jane knew that it was imperative that they did so; he believed Red John would follow through with his threat. Lisbon, meanwhile, was horrified by the idea of willfully walking into danger. There was a difference between bravery and recklessness. When he eventually managed to persuade her to see it his way, he kissed her long and hard. It was a foolish, reckless act, but he had needed to do it.

For too long, he had loved the woman who was now sitting to his right. For too long, he had lived in denial. And he didn’t know if he would ever get the chance to do that again.

This meeting of minds, though, it intrigued Jane. Red John had communicated to them by the medium of murder for so long, but now he had changed the rules. Had they been getting too close to Red John for too long now? Had they been skirting around him and just missing out? Was Lorelei Martins the straw that broke the camel’s back?

It seemed that the answer was yes, because Red John promptly mentioned the scarlet woman.

“I loved Lorelei. You stole her away from me. That makes us equal, your wife for mine.”

“And what about my daughter?”

“Ah, that is why Teresa is here.”

Red John smiled at Lisbon, but Jane saw that she couldn’t maintain her gaze. His hand rested gently on her thigh and he could feel her leg quivering. He was concerned; he could feel the gun, concealed neatly in her thigh holster. She had shamelessly ignored the part of ‘no weapons’. But then, she would claim that there had been a loophole: _Jane_ was told to bring no weapons, not her.

“I propose a game. One hand of poker. I know you’re both more than adequate players of the game.”

“The stakes? Can’t play poker without stakes.” It was the first time that Lisbon had spoken throughout this meeting of sorts. Red John just smiled at her.

“Our lives.”

_6._ _The Royal Flush_

The cards seemed to blur before Teresa Lisbon’s eyes. Red John had been right; she did enjoy playing poker. She had been taught the game by her beloved father, before he’d turned to alcohol after the death of his wife. Her hands shook as she took hold of her hand; she couldn’t believe that she was participating in this game. When she had first entered this bar, she had made a mental note of all the crimes she had spotted as she crossed the room. Now, she didn’t even have the energy to give them a second thought.

If she won, then she was welcome to arrest the serial killer.

If Jane won, he got to kill Red John.

If Red John won, they both died.

She couldn’t help but think that they would all end up in the fiery pits of Hell after this, regardless of what the result of this single hand of cards led to. As a pious woman, that made her feel as though a shard of ice had dropped through her stomach.

Regardless, she had to focus. She had to hide her tells, maintain her poker face. Jane always told her that she had always been far too easy to read.

Lisbon felt sick to her stomach when it was time to reveal what each of them was holding. Jane threw down his two pair and she could see just how anxious he was now. She was relieved though; he wasn’t going to turn into a murderer before her very eyes. That was something to be thankful for in this mess of a game.

After all, it wasn’t just a game. As Red John had said, this was their love, their lives. Red John had lost his lover to her own hand. Jane had lost his wife, but found her. They either got to live together or die together; it was as simple as that.

Red John had a maniacal smile as he spread his cards across the table.

“Straight flush,” he declared.

She smiled wryly as she revealed her own. “ _Royal_ flush.”

 

 

 

The barkeeper watched as old Johnny boy left with two unfamiliar people. A debonair blond man, who looked like trouble in his eyes and a petite firecracker dressed in red. He couldn’t help but wonder where they were going, what trouble Johnny had gotten himself into lately. There was always something going on with that man; he always had the most interesting stories to tell. The barkeeper loved it whenever old Johnny boy came to prop up his mahogany bar, twirling cigarettes around his fingers like a baton.

There had always been an ice cold look in his eyes though. It made the barkeeper shiver right down his spine. But that woman, she had fire in hers and it was a well-known fact that fire could melt ice in an instant.

He wondered what stories old Johnny boy would have to tell next time he came here.

For now, he put that aside and kept on wiping with his filthy cloth. He still had his regulars to attend to, old Davey and Miss Celestina. There was the handful of others too; the men dealing meth in the corner, the old guy always looking to place a bet. The barkeeper could never get lonely because he always had these people around him.

But, old Johnny boy was the most interesting of the lot of them.

As a consequence, the old man went running when he heard three shots, fired one after the other, coming from the alleyway behind his bar.


End file.
